


breezeblocks

by absurdiist



Series: Bad Endings [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dream Team SMP Setting (Video Blogging RPF), Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Imprisonment, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:47:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29292348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/absurdiist/pseuds/absurdiist
Summary: 'Kill me, Phil.' Wilbur begs. His voice wavers, there's tears streaking his cheeks. He reaches forward to steady the shaking blade in Phil's hands and holds the tip to his chest. Just above his heart. 'Dad, please.'Or, the one where Phil doesn't kill Wilbur.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s), Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson
Series: Bad Endings [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2151249
Comments: 13
Kudos: 71





	breezeblocks

'This is going to be a problem,' Phil mutters.

He's come to a stop at the edge of L'Manberg, neck craning back as he takes in the latest grievance this country has to throw at them. The obsidian wall crests over various houses, and has been growing taller each day. Phil doesn't know what's going on with it, he’s heard it's some kind of dispute but he can't be certain. People don't tell him much. He's an outcast without any firm label to go on it and if people do visit him, the conversation is stilted.

His hand falls on the obsidian, cool to the touch, it sends a shudder up his spine. He should get involved in this, it's cause for concern and he might be able to help. Maybe he will, when he pulls the full story out of someone.But for now, Phil has other things to worry about.

Speaking of which...

Phil looks to the sky. The sun has yet to make an appearance, hard to judge how long until it will, especially with the wall blotting out the horizon line. He's been up all night trying to remedy what's left of the country and lost track of the time. Stupid, this could really put a damper on his plan for today.

With a sigh, he turns towards his house, moving hastily. If he's quick, he can do this without fear of the early-risers catching him. He's been here for a couple weeks now, and has yet to meet everyone, but he's well aware that the vast majority of the crowd is waiting for a reason to start spouting shit off to Tubbo. He's walking a thin line as is, and right now he's about to push it further. Best to keep it as risk-free as possible.

There's a redstone contraption set up in Phil's basement, hidden behind a few layers of cobblestone. Phil mines through until he stands in an opening with a lift laid out for him. He stands on it, activates the touchstone plate and holds himself steady as the ground shudders and sinks down beneath him.

The gears grind loudly, impossible to speak over, but not loud enough to drown out the thoughts whirring through Phil's head.

The descent is the worst part. It sets a torturous pace, crawling the length of the chain downwards. It's like drowning, Phil can feel the coiling tightness in his lungs, vision fogging like he's losing consciousness. He doesn't want to do this. He doesn't want to be here. Not like this. But he hasn't been presented with any other way.

Phil exhales sharply. Well, not a way he's inclined to run with.

He can see Techno's stern face in the back of his mind, feeling the concern tainted with judgement as if they're sitting across the table from each other. He shakes his head, as if the thought is a plume of smoke that will dissipate in the air before him. Techno isn't here, and Phil never sought out his opinion on the matter. Why would he? It's not like he has kids to worry about, he wouldn't possibly understand.

Phil isn't one to delude himself. He's not winning father of the year any time soon. But he still cares for his kids. He'd like to think that counts for something.

Wilbur's awake when Phil steps into the room. Unsurprising, given down here he has no real tell on when it's day or night. He's grown accustomed to using Phil as a determinant for the passage of time and given Phil's sleep schedule is on the far side of fucked, Wilbur's is the same. Like father, like son, he supposes.

'About time,' Wilbur says. He's sat on the floor, pressed up against the far wall. 'I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about me.'

Phil blinks, and in those milliseconds his eyes are shut he sees the bright blinding light as L'Manberg had blown apart. The explosion that had fallen upon them all with the heat of a blazing inferno and left one of his wings in ruins. Phantom pain throbs in the tattered remains and Phil suppresses a grimace.

As if he could forget about Wilbur, as if his conscience would let him.

'I'm the same time as always.'

Wilbur smiles, head cocked to the side. 'Liar.'

He always did know when to call his bluff. 'Give or take an hour, I'll get you a clock or something.' Phil motions vaguely with his hands. 'Come on, get up.'

Wilbur narrows his eyes. 'Why?'

'I thought you might want to go outside.'

He can't quite disguise the way his face lights up. A split second before it's washed away and clouded over by feigned disinterest.

'Yeah, I guess so,' he pushes himself to his feet, cricking his neck and stretching like it's the first time he's moved all night. He moves to walk past but a hand motion from Phil has him hesitating and he falls back on his heels.

'I've got something for you first,' Phil says. He brings up his inventory with a flick of his wrist, rifling through it until the golden object presents itself. He pulls it out and presents it to Wilbur, hoping that for once, Wilbur makes something easy for him.

The sour expression on his face is answer enough. 'I won't hold it.'

He says it gruffly, his gaze murderous. It's a tone that might inspire fear in the average person, but only causes Phil to roll his eyes. To him, all he sees is a child that refuses to finish the vegetables on his plate.

'Wil, come on. You want to go outside, yeah?'

Wilbur says nothing.

It's not like he's chaining him up. Which is what would surely happen if the others knew about this, if they permitted him to leave the room in the first place. It's such a small thing that Phil's asking of him, but even that's too much.

'If I was going to do something, don't you think I'd have tried it by now?'

'No,' Phil says, and Wilbur scowls in response, lips pulling taut.

Wilbur has this idea in his head that Phil doesn't understand the inner workings of his brain. As if he didn't play a hand in raising him, as flawed as his input was. Wilbur was never the warrior type, he didn't barge into scuffles he knew he couldn't win unless there was some ulterior move at play.

If Wilbur was going to try something, he'd bide his time and wait for Phil to trust him more. He was a tactician. A good talker too. That's where the danger lied. Phil isn't about to fall victim to it.

'We don't have to go out,' Phil says, keeping his voice level. He doesn't want to fight. Not today. 'It's your own time you're wasting.'

Wilbur deliberates for a moment and Phil thinks back to when they first went through this. How he'd had to pin Wilbur to the ground and tie the damn totem to his arm, all whilst he was cussed to the End and back. There'd been tears on both sides, neither of them had mentioned it. Wilbur hadn't spoken to him for three days afterwards.

It's not going to be a repeat of that. Wilbur holds his hand out and lets Phil strap the totem to his forearm, tight enough that he sees Wilbur bite back a wince.

'Can't even trust me with that.'

Phil doesn't want to fight, but he can't quite stop himself from biting out, 'Yeah? And whose fault is that?'

Wilbur flashes a smile that falls short of his eyes. 'Mine. Isn't it always?'

That remains up for debate, Phil thinks and swallows his guilt down as they head for the lift.

The fresh air is a welcome relief when they step outside. Phil had barely been down in the room for ten minutes and had felt stuffy in it's confines. He can't imagine what it's like for Wilbur, who's last venture outside was over a week ago.

'Looks nice,' Wilbur says, so quiet that at first Phil doesn't think it's meant for him. His eyes trail up and his face sours. 'Aside from the giant fucking wall. What is that?'

'Dream's idea of decoration.'

'Why?'

'Something Tommy's done, I think.'

It really is another fucking headache. Something Phil would be on top of by now if he didn't have enough on his plate. Or if he ever saw Tommy. He's stopped around at his house multiple times but he's never home. He doesn't reply to the messages Phil leaves and might as well be chugging down invisibility potions, Phil’s seen so little of him. 

'You think?' Wilbur presses.

'Have yet to hear about it from him.'

'So it's not just me he's avoiding?'

'No. Turns out I'm guilty by association.'

'Ha!'

Wilbur's grin is a welcome sight and Phil finds himself smiling along with him. It's different from his common mocking grins that accompany statements meant to bruise. This is close to the old Wilbur, a small piece of him that remains under all the bullshit that's befallen them. A version of Wilbur Phil is desperate to unearth.

As with all of Wilbur's good moods, the joy is fleeting and soon his expression is clouding over again.

'If he's in trouble, he should come to me,' Wilbur says. 'I'd help. Not like I can go see him. He's the one with free fucking reign of the place.'

'You hurt him,' Phil says. 'He feels betrayed. You can't blame him for staying away.'

'He didn't get it,' Wilbur mutters. 'Such a fucking child.'

'Look who's talking.'

It was meant as a joke. A bad one, sure, but not meant to cause any real offence. 

Wilbur swings at him, a clumsy throw of a fist that Phil is able to dodge with ease. It lacked motivation. The next one doesn't. Fury lights up Wilbur's face when he stumbles. He clenches his fist tight and throws his body into the punch, aiming for Phil's nose.

Phil catches his hand this time, bending Wilbur's wrist down until he winces, anger momentarily forgotten as pain takes precedence.

'Don't, Wilbur.'

He drops the hand and holds Wilbur's gaze for a moment. After a moment, the resentment fizzles away and Wilbur breaks the stare, eyes falling to the ground in defeat.

'Fuck you,' he says, but it lacks any heat. Wilbur walks off, shuffling from sight to sight, ignoring Phil, trailing behind him like a second shadow.

They don't say anything. Phil learnt early on that there's no point in making conversation with Wilbur when he’s like this, he'll let you know when he wants to talk. He's content enough with the silence. Wilbur is getting fresh air and exercise, as lacking as it is. Besides, a good portion of their conversations end with Wilbur lashing out. If silence is the way to avoid it, then Phil is more than happy to entertain it.

He's lucky as well, that Wilbur is in one of his rarer, more subdued moods. He isn't going out of his way to draw attention to them, keeping quiet so as not to rouse anyone sleeping in the houses they pass. It's good, if not a little worrisome. At least when Wilbur's yelling, Phil knows his intentions, right now, he couldn't get a read on him if his life depended on it.

It's long minutes before Wilbur breaks his silence, his voice uncharacteristically small.

'Can we go there?'

Phil frowns, eyes flicking to Wilbur for an elaboration. Wilbur fidgets, unable to hold Phil's gaze for more than a second. He's about to prompt him for more context when he notices where Wilbur's body is pointed towards, realises what the sudden show of trepidation is about. He goes wooden, lips pressing into a firm line as the crease in his brow deepens.

'Why?' The word is a harsh accusation. He'd regret the tone if he could feel anything beyond his own anxiety.

Wilbur swallows hard, still not meeting his gaze. 'Can we?'

Phil contemplates for a moment, wondering if this is a trap. It can't be. Wilbur's been stuck inside this entire time and none of the scarce visitors he's had would do anything to help him. Besides, even if it were some set up he's got the totem on him. That's the worst possibility wrenched from the equation.

Despite this, uneasiness still festers between Phil's ribs. There's nothing good in the memories that reside in that place, he can't see it helping Wilbur in anyway. But still. It's something Phil can give him, regardless of how odd a request it is. Perhaps there's something in it that'll offer Wilbur some closure.

Without verbally answering, Phil leads them over, eyeing Wilbur in his peripheral for some gauge on his reaction. His lips have thinned and he remains quiet, but he matches Phil's pace with something bordering on enthusiasm albeit beneath layers of practiced apathy. Phil will take his wins where he can get them.

It's a bit of a climb to get to. It's still dark and the terrain is unreliable, it's a place Phil has tentatively avoided in his efforts to rebuild. But they take their time and manage to get there without any grievous bodily harm between them.

Phil feels his nerves begin to chew at him in earnest. His eyes stay pinned on Wilbur, weary as he ambles about the small space with an air of familiarity that has shivers shooting up Phil's spine.

This is what is left of the detonation room. The place where Wilbur had revealed the extent of his deteriorating sanity. The place where Phil had to wrap his head around what had become of his son.

Phil's breath leaves him sharply, fogs the air in front of him. His heart pounds and he thinks back, unwillingly to the last time he was here.

* * *

_'Kill me, Phil.' Wilbur's voice is frantic, a manic urgency to it that Phil has never heard from him before. 'Phil, kill me._ **_Phil,_ ** _kill me.'_

_He throws down a diamond sword. It clangs as it hits the rocky terrain and lies blinking tauntingly in the scant light. The sight of it has Phil's heart battering against his ribcage, the pain in his wings forgotten as a torment like he's never felt tears into him._

_'Stab me with this sword,' Wilbur says. His bottom lip trembles, the only crack in his otherwise fervent conviction. 'Murder me now. Kill me.'_

_Phil's hands shake. His gaze lifts to meet Wilbur's wild eyes, but it was like Wilbur was staring through him. There's a lack of recognition, only anticipation and mania and beneath that, agony brought forth by what Phil could only assume was guilt._

_Phil understands that guilt now more than ever._

_Could he have prevented this?_

_'Do it. Kill me. Murder me.' Wilbur thrusts his arm out towards the open crevice. 'Look, they all want you to. Do it, Phil, kill me. Phil, kill me.'_

_'You're my son!'_

_The words burst forth unbidden and Phil shakes all over, fingers moving unconsciously for the blade, before he retracts them like he's been burnt. He won't. He won't._

_Wilbur's expression remains unchanged, like he hadn't heard or didn't care._

_'Phil, kill me.'_

_'No matter what you do...' Phil starts, but the words escape him. He shakes his head. 'No matter what you've done... I can't--'_

_Wilbur runs his fist into the wall, again and again, rage exploding out of him in the violent display. Phil's mouth clamps shut, alarm lighting up inside him. Wilbur pulls back, fist cradled to his chest, blood dribbling down his knuckles and staining a patch of the wall behind him._

_'Phil, look,' he points out towards the fallen country again, the wild mirth on his face gone. 'Look! How much work went into this and it's_ **_gone.'_ **

_Phil looks out to the others, their faces mere smudges of colour in a greying backdrop. He couldn't grasp their expressions, whether it be judgement, scorn, sadness, confusion. Wilbur must not be able to see either, but his paranoia had painted the emotions there._

_'I deserve it, Phil. I did all of this. I destroyed everything, I could've killed people! I deserve to die for that.'_

_'I can't, Wil.'_

_He stepped back from the sword, fists pressed firmly to his sides. A shadow passes over Wilbur's face, his eyes flick down to the blade then up to focus on Phil. His gaze lingered in an uncomfortably long silence._

_'If you let me go,' Wilbur says, voice a low promise. 'I'll do it again.'_

_Phil swallows hard. 'No, you won't.'_

_A crooked smile pulls at Wilbur's lips. 'Oh, yes I will. I'll make it even more devastating too, right down to bedrock. Take out the community house and the church, all of it.'_

He's trying to provoke me. _Phil shakes his head. He doesn't understand this. How could he have missed all the warning signs? How could he not have seen any of this coming? How did it get to this point where Wilbur is toppling over the edge of insanity?_

_'I'll kill everyone,' Wilbur begins to tremble, whole body quaking with the force of his desperation. 'Not just once. Over and over, until they have no lives left. Just for the fun of it, just because I can.'_

_'Stop it.'_

_'I_ **_won't!'_ ** _Wilbur screams it, so loud and shrill that his voice breaks. Like he's a child again. 'Don't you get it? I'll keep doing this until someone puts an end to it. An end to_ **_me._ ** _Do you want that on your shoulders? Do you?'_

_He moves suddenly and Phil flinches, stumbling backwards and coming dangerously close to the edge of the ravine. He only looks away for a second, just long enough to correct his footing, and then he feels Wilbur's hands wrapping around his own, something cold and heavy being pressed into his palms. The sword._

_Phil's hands fall awkwardly around the hilt. The grip weak, like a light breeze would rip it from his fingers. It's like he's never held a weapon in his life. Wilbur looks him over, like he's an imperfect art piece he's just hung in a gallery. Not quite right, but it'll do to fill the empty space._

_He nods to himself and looks into Phil's eyes, throat bobbing as he swallows hard._

_'Kill me, Phil.' Wilbur begs. His voice wavers, there's tears streaking his cheeks. He reaches forward to steady the shaking blade in Phil's hands and holds the tip to his chest. Just above his heart. 'Dad, please.'_

_Phil steals his breath and the sword clatters to the ground between them. He balls his fists, pulling himself up right, tight as a coil._

_Desperation paints Wilbur's expression, his face looks on the cusp of shattering._

_'No, please--'_

**_Thwack!_ **

_Wilbur slumps to the ground._

_'Phil!' Tommy's voice. Tearing across the ravine and echoing long after the scream has left him._

_A chorus of other voices yell out to him, but the sound is swallowed whole by the ringing in Phil's ears. His fist throbs and relief floods through him at the fact it only took one punch to take Wilbur down. He couldn’t stomach having to do it again._

_Phil crouches beside him, his fingers fumbling for the juncture on Wilbur's neck. He exhales, shakily when he finds it. Pulse still throbbing beneath soot covered skin. Alive._

_He couldn't stop him from blowing up the city, couldn't stop him from losing himself_

_But he can keep him alive. Can keep him safe and people safe from him. He can do that much._

_Right?_

* * *

'Time to head back,' Phil says abruptly. 'Home. Now.'

Wilbur's head snaps over to him, his hand hovering under the surviving graffiti he'd strewn on the wall. A patch of blood stains the wall where his fingers are, dried to a dark smudge now. He lowers his hand slowly and turns to face Phil, his brow furrowing in confusion.

'It's barely been an hour.'

'It'll be light soon. You're not meant to be out.'

Wilbur snorts. 'What are they gonna do? Kill me?'

'Might kill me too.'

Wilbur goes rigid.

For a long moment, he doesn't say anything. In the early days, when Phil had first taken Wilbur with him, shutting him away in a room he’d built up for him, people hadn’t been happy. There was a disagreement over whether what Phil was doing was a befitting justice and then whether or not Phil could be trusted to keep Wilbur under lock and key

To this day, Phil knows people harbor resentment. Some probably would go so far as to say they hate him. To be caught out, letting Wilbur out without consulting anyone, free to walk around the country he’d blown to pieces? Some would call it treason and with the posters set out for Techno, ‘Wanted Dead or Alive’ it’s not hard to imagine what they might gun for. 

'Fine,' Wilbur says. 'Let's go.'

The journey back is shorter. Wilbur keeps his eyes on his feet and doesn't stop to take in his surroundings like he had initially. They're home within ten minutes, riding the lift down with no words between them. Phil's heart feels leaden but he swallows down the urge to start conversation and tries to stop himself from fidgeting as they enter Wil's room.

Wilbur breaks away from him and takes his place once more on the floor, the exact same spot that Phil had found him in. He pulls his knees up to his chest and buries his face in the crook of his arm, shivering against a chill that isn't there.

Phil frowns at the sight of him, noticing the dark bags under Wilbur's eyes for the first time. He folds his lips, biting back curses. Is he going to sleep now? Has he been eating? Phil is about to check his chest to confirm when Wilbur mumbles something, muffled against the fabric of his shirt.

'What was that?'

'You should've killed me.'

It's not the first time Phil's heard those words. But whether they’re hissed out through grit teeth, sobbed into Phil's collar, screamed into his face with spittle flying, it still inspires the same breed of dread. The sort that clogs in Phil's throat, impossible to swallow down.

'I can't do that, Wil.'

Wilbur chokes out a laugh devoid of any amusement. 'So you make me suffer?'

There's nothing Phil can say to that, so he presses his lips together and waits.

'I don't want to talk to you anymore,' Wilbur says. He curls in on himself a bit more, shuffling around so they're no longer facing. 'Parental obligations fulfilled for the day. Congratulations.'

Phil wilts, any remaining hope for a good interaction draining like the last dregs of water in a sink.

'C'mon, mate...'

'Go,' Wilbur says. 'Fuck off. Get out. Now.'

And so Phil goes.

Upstairs, he sits by the window, watching the sun come up over the obsidian wall. His mind wanders, eyes growing heavy in his weariness. He should sleep, but Wilbur's words play on loop, reverberating in his brain.

_You should've killed me._

Phil runs his hands down his face with a sigh.

Maybe... Maybe if he brings someone in to visit him. Someone he holds less resentment against. It's not hard, Phil's clearly at the top of the shit list. But the next tier down is rife with everyone he held any semblance of distrust for. Blowing up the country hasn't done anything to sate the paranoia rotting his grip on reality and he still views everyone as a traitor, user, or enemy-to-be.

Techno has visited a handful of times when he'd snuck into the country. Shouldering all of Wilbur's contempt with ease, managing to pull a couple smiles with dry humour. There were downsides to his visits. Wilbur would try buttering him up, promising him an extra set of hands in whatever plan Techno had cooked up in exchange for freedom. Techno would decline, but it made Phil uneasy.

And then there were the talks Phil had to endure afterwards. Conversations that berate him for what he's doing without offering any concrete solutions along with the long suffering stares that just seep with condemnation.

'You can't keep this up, Phil,' Techno would say. 'I know I'm not a poster boy for morality, but even I know keeping Wilbur locked up like that is wrong.'

But there aren't any other options. Techno likes to claim otherwise, but his long silences when Phil prompts him to elaborate speak lengths of what he has in mind. The one time he did speak was the closest Phil’s ever came to throttling him.

‘Sometimes the best thing to do is let go.’

Phil won't do that. He can't.

There were others that had visited. Niki's had ended with a screaming match, Eret's had ended with Wilbur's hands around his throat, even Bad had come and Wilbur hadn't spoken a single word to him the entire time he was there.

Tubbo had tried too, though he'd left visibly shaken. Phil had regretted leaving the two alone and knew better now than to entertain Wilbur's requests for privacy. 

Dream had asked to visit once, in a tone that sounded conversational, but carried a threat. Phil hadn't allowed it, citing Wilbur acting out as a reason. He doesn’t know how long that’ll hold him off, and dreads the day his attention moves from whatever has him building this wall onto Wilbur once more.

_What about Fundy?_

Phil hesitates.

It's tempting, more so than he'd like to admit. But Phil can't do it. He won't put the kid through that on the slim chance it'll have some positive effect on Wilbur. Not when Fundy's own mental well being is teetering on the edge of a blade.

He'll get Techno to visit again. And maybe he'll get Wilbur a pet? That'll give him something to focus on outside of the past, right? It can't go any worse than how things are panning out now.

He'll make this work. It has to work. There's no other alternative, or at least none that Phil can entertain. Techno's words reverberate in his ears, follow him into a fitful few hours of sleep.

_Sometimes the best thing to do is let go._

Phil dreams of another life. A one not dissimilar to the one he sees here. One where, when a wild and broken Wilbur had asked him to kill him, he _did_. A flash of blue and a smattering of red. Wilbur collapsed, a bloodied toothy grin on his face as his dead body lay crumpled like a forgotten rag doll on the ground.

He wakes in a cold sweat, cheeks wet and chest aching as he tries to suck in enough oxygen to sustain himself. It takes him a moment to place his surroundings, to calm the thundering against his ribs. His eyes settle on the far wall and he coaches himself down, fingers fisting in the sheets as he fights the urge to get up and _run._

'It was a dream,' he whispers. His shaking arms come up to console himself, fingers digging into the gnarled scars that line his shoulders. 'Just a dream, Phil, pull it together.'

Of course it wasn't real. It was just a nightmare. Nothing to be scared of. It didn't happen and never would. Of course it wouldn't.

What kind of father could kill their own son?

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> I've had this idea for a while of doing a series of fics set in Dream SMP based on alternative endings for different plot points. Hence the series name. I have a few ideas that I'll hopefully get around to but this one was a lot of fun and so very angsty. I had to do it :)
> 
> Any kudos and comments are much appreciated!! Thank you for reading my angsty nonsense :p


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